


Storybooks

by pariahpirate



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, I LOVE KID FICS, I can't help it believe me, Kid Fic, Young Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes, alternative universe, copious mentions of death and dying, i just, oodles of book refrences, see if you can guess them all!, ymmv
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-08-29 04:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8474920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pariahpirate/pseuds/pariahpirate
Summary: In which a Small Junker boy adopts himself two moms who are forced to face their mutual affection for each other because of their newly acquired son. [De-anon for the prompt meme]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so today i met a person irl who reads my fanfics and i read theirs and fuck that was an Experience it was good bc they love me and i love them but also bad bc they know where i live and its easy to bring pitchforks and torches bc our door is literally always open

He’s barely six years old when strange people come to Junkertown. They aren’t welcomed - no newcomers are - but they aren’t driven out either. Their so-called leader is a weary old man with pale white hair and a red, red mask. He carries himself rigid, like all the old soldiers from the Omnic Crisis and the Quiet War. He wears blue leather and holds his rifle like a treasure, tight and close. But he isn’t the real leader. He’s only the face that the grown ups have to deal with.  
  
The real leader is the angel.  
  
She’s the one calling the shots, because she’s the one who works inside the tent that the old masked soldier guards. She’s definitely the leader, because all the other strangers report back to her too.  
  
The strangers are so fascinating. They’re like the characters in his charred storybooks. The grown up Junkers tell him and all the other little rats, keep your distance. But he can’t keep away. They’re all just like his storybooks. There’s a cheeky cowboy. A valiant knight in beautiful armor. A woman with superpowers and a glowing heart. There’s even a man who looks like a samurai, but he doesn’t have a sword, not that he could tell. He doesn’t really have the best eyes.  
  
He likes to sneak close to the great big tent they set up, just to listen to their voices.  
  
The grown ups don’t trust them at first, but they have supplies Junkertown needs, and there’s no price on them. It’s not like dealing with the Scav caravans or with the Suits. There aren’t any strings attached here. The grown ups don’t trust it. Can’t trust it. He thinks it’s the first miracle Junkertown has ever seen.  
  
The angel is a doctor. She offers her services for whatever her patients can pay, which, more often than not, is nothing. She works miracles for nothing, fixing up the hurt in Junkertown, one stitch at a time.  
  
He’s reminded of his arm, which aches and throbs worse and worse by the day. He holds the bandaged limb and wonders if the angel would help him. He is awfully small and scrawny. Everyone says he’s not going to amount to much. He thinks they say that to be kind. He knows what the grown ups really think. They don’t have to sugarcoat it. He’s not gonna live that long. He’s small and scrawny for his age. Too small. Too scrawny. He won’t get the chance to amount to something.  
  
Still.  
  
Maybe the angel will fix his arm? It’s a waste of supplies and medicine. The grown ups would be quick to disapprove. Supplies are too valuable to waste. He’d be a bad investment.  
  
His grip on his bad arm is starting to hurt. His chewed up nails are biting into his flesh, tearing tiny holes in the old, yellowed gauze. His eyes sting with tears that he viciously tries to wipe away. He feels his whole body start to shake and he’s filled with sad hatred. He wants to be worth it. He wants to be good - why can’t he? Why can’t they give him a chance? Why -  
  
“Hello, little one.”  
  
He squeaks, whipping around towards the voice, arms drawn to protect his face and body curled as defensively small as possible. Nothing happens. Nothing strikes. He lowers his arms a bit, takes a look at the owner of the voice.  
  
It’s the knight.  
  
“You’re hurt.” She says, looking at his bandaged arm and then down at his bandaged legs. Her gaze softens, “Would you like to see Doctor Zeigler?”  
  
His arms fall to his sides. He stares up in disbelieving wonder. “I c’n … I c’n do that?”  
  
The knight draws back. She suddenly looks so sad.  
  
She’s really pretty, he notices now that she’s so close. Not pretty like the angel. The angel is a kind sort of pretty. A gentle sort of pretty. The knight is pretty like the strong sort of pretty. A determined sort of pretty. He loves it. It’s a story come to life, and it would be perfect, so perfect, if the knight scooped him up like a princess and brought him home to his family, like all the knights in good stories do - even if he’s not a princess, even if he doesn’t have a home, even if he doesn’t have a family.  
  
He lets out another squeak when she does almost exactly that.  
  
She doesn’t bring him home to his family, because those don’t exist, but she does scoop him up and carry him like a princess. She can carry him with one arm and that’s amazing. Her bright blue armor is warm and smooth. He can see his reflection in its perfectly polished surface.  
  
“I’m going to take you to Doctor Zeigler.” She says, and she does.  
  
She carries him into the big tent. The old soldier guard nods to her as she enters, and she nods back. He tries to make himself look harmless under the untrackable stare behind that red, red mask. The knight pats his back, holds him close.  
  
He wants to cry. He wants her to put him down. He wants her to carry him forever.  
It can’t stay. Don’t get used to it. Don’t even get a taste of it. You’ll never amount to anything. You won’t last long enough to.  
  
The knight sets him down on a table covered with a long sheet of paper. The angel is in the tent, as she rarely isn’t, dedicatedly scribbling something down on a clipboard. The knight pets his wild hair, staying with him. Reassuring him. She must be one of the noblest of knights, he thinks quietly, kicking his feet idly as he too, waits for the doctor. Only the most noblest of knights would care about lost causes.  
  
“Thank you for waiting!” The angel says brightly, smiling with a full set of straight white teeth. She sets down her clipboard, only to pick up another one. A new one.  
  
“He’s the little one McCree has mentioned before. The one hiding about the tent.” The knight says, and he instantly curls up again. He’d been caught, obviously doing something wrong, and this was just another grown up trap -  
  
“He’s obviously hurt.” The knight continues, and he drags himself out of panic to listen to her, because she might say something important, and survival trumps panicking about mistakes, “I am also certain he’s one of the orphans.”  
  
Orphan. Yeah, just like in the storybooks. Except he’s not special like those orphans are.  
  
Everyone in Junkertown is an orphan in some way or another.  
  
The angel and the kinght are talking now, ignoring him. The angel is muffling a giggle behind her hand and the knight is smiling. She looks dashing, and he’s not quite sure what that word means just yet, but he’s very certain that it’s a thing that knights look like when they’re happy.  
  
“Fareeha -” The angel laughs again, another light giggle muffled by her hand, “Okay, I must see to my patient!”  
  
That means him!  
  
“Of course.” The knight smiles. She laughs too. He likes the sound of it. She ruffles his hair and takes her leave, disappearing outside, leaving him with the angel.  
  
He really hopes she’s as kind as her actions suggest. He’s been fooled before. He subconsciously reaches for his hurt arm.  
  
The angel stops him, placing a gentle hand on his. The fabric of her glove is soft. The texture feels nice.  
  
“G’day!” He chirps, smiling brightly, just like the angel had.  
  
“Hello.” She says, and the corners of her eyes crinkle with her smile, “I am Doctor Zeigler. Can you tell me your name?”  
  
“Jamison Fawkes!” He chirps proudly. He had taken the name from one of the writers of his favorite book. Names aren’t often used in Junkertown, only nicknames and titles, and he probably won’t live long enough to see one of those bestowed upon him, so his name isn’t known to many. A shame. He loves his name. It’s special.  
  
“Alright Jamison. Do you have any parents?” Doctor Zeigler asks, raising up her clipboard and pen.  
  
“Uh-uh.” He replies, shaking his head for emphasis. Her lips turn downwards, and her brows rise up in the sad way. She jots something down.  
  
“Can you tell me what happened?” She asks, as she sets down her clipboard and pen, and reaches for a pair of scissors. She gestures with her hand, a ‘may I?’ that he obliges, holding out his hurt arm for her.  
  
“Got tricked.” He admits, sourly. He wasn’t tricked. He knew that the bottle wasn’t filled with what the older kids said it was filled with, but they were big and burly and strong and they stood over him like towing giants as he tried to work. He didn’t have much of a choice.  
  
Doctor Zeigler cuts away the bandages and stifles a gasp. Everything drains away from her face, replaced with grief and fear. He doesn’t dare look. He knows the burns are bad. Knows they’re ugly. He tries his best not to flinch at the pain as Doctor Zeigler’s fingers ghost over the cuts, welts, and blisters.  
  
“Stay very still. I’m going to fix you up.” She commands, setting down the scissors and moving to fetch something from the other side of the tent. He doesn’t dare breathe. She comes back with a needle, a little vial, and a very long staff-thing.  
  
“S’not … not a waste, right?” His voice wavers. Everything about his body language is tentative. Drawn in, close and tight. Doctor Zeigler stops and stares at him. Everything on her face says pained disbelief. She leans her staff against the table he’s on and gingerly places the free hand on his shoulder.  
  
“Of course not.” She breaths, “It’s not a waste at all.”  
  
“Okay.” His voice is even softer. It’s just too good to be true.  
  
“I will need your other arm to draw blood. It will pinch.” She says, taking back her free hand and holding out for his good arm.  
  
“M’kay.” He says. He watches her carefully. He watches the whole little procedure, from the set up, to the needle entering the crook of his elbow, to his blood rushing into the tiny little vial. When Doctor Zeigler is done, she removes the tiny silver needle and has some soft gauze pressed against the tiny wound. She ruffles his hair too, a soft little smile gracing her lips.  
  
“Hold this there for just a moment.” She says, and he listens. He does as he’s told.  
  
She starts fiddling with her staff. His blood was somehow necessary.  
  
“You will begin to feel warm.” She says, pointing the wider end of the staff towards him. She must have caught onto his fear. Must have seen him flinch or heard him whimper, because the next thing she says is gentle and soothing.  
  
“No need to be scared, Jamison. This won’t hurt.” She says, and then begins to explain about her invention. About nanotechnology and medicine, albeit a little watered down, like she thought he was some baby.  
  
She’s perfectly right though. Nothing hurts once the pretty yellow light swirls around him. He smiles, giddy. He can’t help the laughter bubble up in his throat.  
  
“Thanks cobber!” He gives her his best smile.  
  
“You’re welcome.” He’s fairly certain she gave him her best smile back, and bids him a good-bye wave as he runs and jumps out of the tent, free of pain, for the first time in weeks.  
  
The angel, Doctor Zeigler. She’s exactly as nice as she looks. No tricks, no lies. She’s gotta be smart. She must know exactly what to do, all the time, because she’s just like - she acts just like - just like in the storybooks ...  
  
He doesn’t say the word aloud. Doesn’t even let the thought fully develop. He chokes on it all the same. He’s not expected to grow up. He really shouldn’t think about these things. Shouldn’t entertain these wild thoughts. Shouldn’t get excited about things that he’d just have to leave behind, heartbroken, just like in all the sad storybooks.  
  
Nobody would want a defective son anyways.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The grown ups are very strange." The little prince said to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys will never guess what Jamie's favorite book is. 
> 
> (And as always, your comments are the best part of all this to be quite honest)

He’s not that great at reading out loud. He stammers too much to make the words sound nice and the story doesn’t sound nearly as cool as it does in his head because he can’t do the voices properly and everything sounds pretty bad when every two sentences he mispronounces a word. Somebody corrects him, usually the samurai or Doctor Zeigler, and he’s grateful, really, but it just makes him more flustered and prone to messing up more things. They don’t do it to be mean and they don’t mock him for it like the older Junker rats. These strangers genuinely seem to want to help.

He’s not used to people wanting to help him.

But he wants to do this. He wants to do this for them, these really nice strangers who care about him. He has nothing to give but his stories, so his stories he’ll give. Every day, like clockwork, he arrives to the large tent with a new storybook in his hands, held like a treasure. Every day, like clockwork, somebody will be there, standing at the tent’s entrance, to greet him with a smile, with fondness in their voices. Every day, like clockwork, he will read them one of his precious stories.

And they enjoy it.

The cowboy - _“Call me McCree, kiddo.”_ \- always participates, helping out with voices and laughing at every one of the jokes. Sometimes he reads out loud when his own voice is too tired to keep going. He mispronounces words too, and not even on purpose to make fun of him or to make him feel better like he’s a baby. He likes McCree. The man always has a weird saying or joke that makes him laugh, no matter how upset the older rats make him, no matter how much the older rats hurt him with words and stares.

The knight - _“Pharah. You can call me Pharah.”_ \- is quieter. She never speaks, just listens, but she listens so well. Her focus is unwavering and she always thanks him for the story afterwards, praising his storytelling ability. He really likes Pharah. She has such a soothing voice, crisp and firm like the ding of a timer. She also really likes explosions, and she’s shown him a few of her specialized rockets that she launches from her armor. She also gives really great hugs. That’s something that he knows for a fact, even if he really hasn’t experienced many hugs to judge quality.

The samurai - _“I am Hanzo. A pleasure, little one.”_ \- is the one who corrects him the most, but he always sits criss-cross on the ground with him seated comfortably in his lap. It feels like the samurai has done this before, with his finger following along under the words he’s reading so that he doesn’t lose his place when he gets flustered. He likes Hanzo, even if the man is always so sternly silent. There’s something about the not-quite-samurai that reminds him of the soldiers of the Quiet War. Something sad. Like he lost something the very thing he fought to protect.

The woman with the glowing heart - _“You could call me Tracer, but if I can call ya Jamie, you can call me Lena!”_ \- is a lot like him. She gets super distracted really easy, just like he does, attention catching on various points of the stories, asking questions and running off with tangents and stories of her own. When he reads to her, she’s usually the one to entertain him with stories rather than her, but, like with the samurai man, she lets him sit in her lap. It’s not too comfortable, but he feels nice. Important. He likes Lena a lot. She’s so cheery and fast - she does such amazing things, and she even let him watch her detonate a pulse bomb! (She won’t let him touch it though.)

The old soldier - _“I’m just a soldier, son.”_ \- is quiet too, just like Miss Pharah. Unlike Miss Pharah, he can never tell if the man is listening. His eyes are hidden by his red, red mask, and his face always seems to be turned away. But when the story is finished, done and told, he always receives a thank you from the old soldier. A thank you and a fond hair-ruffle. He likes the soldier. He’s an intimidating old man, but he’s like the soldiers from the Omnic Crisis. They’re all grizzled and bitter on the outside too, like they had to bury their soft hearts to protect themselves. Yes, that’s exactly what the old soldier is like. He’ll be happy again when he remembers where he buried his heart.

He likes reading for Doctor Zeigler the most, though. She seems to enjoy it the most, asking questions every now and then when he takes a little pause to catch his breath and turn the page. Small questions, like _“Why did the little girl need to leave her home?”_ and _“Can you imagine living on a planet that small?”_ Some of the questions have answers. Some don’t. She’s busy, busy, busy. Ever since word got around that they fixed him right up, many Junkers have decided to take their chance with the outsiders’ doctor. Despite this, she listens and loves his storybooks. Sometimes, when her long days wind to a stand-still, she’ll pick him up and carry him on her hip, like he’s small and weighs nothing at all, and tell him her stories.

That’s how he learns, _really_ _learns_ , about Overwatch. Heroes who helped end the Omnic Crisis. Heroes who helped all over the world. Heroes that fought for people and saved people and did their best to make everything right. It was his storybooks made real.

“An’ now you’re finally here t’ help Oz!” He chirps, beaming. Heroes came to help them. Real heroes! The evil bots and the wicked suits would be defeated and leave and everyone would be happy and healthy and good, just like in the storybooks. “S’ jus’ like in m’ storybooks!”

Doctor Zeigler smiles, her pretty white teeth in nice straight rows, but her blue, blue eyes look sad.

“We will certainly try.” She says, booping him on the nose. He scrunches up his face, frowning naturally. He sticks out his tongue and she laughs, mirroring him and sticking out her tongue. He can’t help it - grown ups always look so weird when they do kid stuff. He laughs, loud and endless, and she joins in.

  
She sits him on a table in the tent corner, handing him his book - he’s brought his second favorite book today.

“Here you go.” She says, and her smile is encouraging in the softest way.

He cracks open the book, fingers ghosting over the slightly scorched pages, and begins to read in the clearest voice he can muster. He reads for hours, it feels like, but his voice doesn’t feel a bit tired. He never feels tired when he reads for Doctor Zeigler. It feels too much like a gift.

He only stops, mid-sentence, when she gets her first patient of the day. Eyes wide, he curls up, locks up. His storybook becomes a shield as his voice dies in his throat. The Junker doesn’t pay attention to him, if the big burly man even noticed him at all. All the same, he’d rather not read. Rather not draw attention to himself. He’s not brave enough for that.

“Won’t you continue, Jamison?” Doctor Zeigler asks, casting her concerned gaze briefly towards him. She notices his hesitance, and smiles encouragingly, “I would love to hear what happens next.”

He perks back up, feeling wanted. He’s nervous. He’s not really okay with reading before a Junker, but Doctor Zeigler is a brave, kind woman. He wants to be like her. He wants to be brave too. He takes in a deep breath and starts over, “R-right! Okay ...T-the first of them was in-inhab- inhabted?

“Inhabited.” Doctor Zeigler corrects, smiling lightly as she measures out thread for some stitches.

He nods sharply, humming. “The first of them was inhabited by a king …”

It was his second favorite book, this one. Even if he’s never read it out loud, he knows it’s words and its pages well. He struggled with the fancier words, like _ermine_ and _insubordination_ that the kind doctor was patient to correct, but the easier words flow easily. He had nearly finished with chapter ten when the whole tent shook with the force of an explosion. He heard a collection of screams go up, followed by rage and yelling. Gunfire and more explosions that rocked all of Junkertown.

“Mein gott.” He heard Doctor Zeigler whisper, choked and wide-eyed. Her entire body seemed to lock up. In a flash she had picked up a tiny pistol, stored at her hip, and her special staff, “Stay here!”

  
He sat still and stared. He waited for many minutes, alone in the tent, listening to the chaos outside the tent with a strong sense of want. He didn’t want to stay put, and he knew he probably shouldn’t. It was always better to be outside, to see the action, than to stay hidden nearby. That’s how bombs worked. If you saw it coming, you had a much better chance at surviving.

Guess grown ups forgot that bit when they became grown ups?

Also - this always happened. The outsiders, he guesses, are okay. They weren’t from Junkertown. They didn’t know this kind of thing always happened. It was okay if they panicked and stuff. They didn’t know better. But everybody in Junkertown knew better. It happened a lot. What was the point in panicking and screaming about something normal?

He sighed, setting down his book and taking great care to mark his place. He reads the last sentence of the chapter softly, barely above his breath before he leaves the tent to see what’s causing the mess this time.

 

 

He wakes up.

He wakes up, staring at the tan canvas ceiling of Doctor Zeigler’s tent.

He wakes up, and it _hurts_. He’s not sure what hurts, it feels like everything does. There’s a great lot of him that can’t even move right now, it hurts so badly. He feels his eyes burn with tears. He feels the cool trickle of them as they slip down his face, from the corners of his eyes. It hurts.

There’s whispering. People - no, no it’s the strangers. It’s Lena and McCree and Pharah and Hanzo and Doctor Zeigler, all whispering so close but not close enough for him to understand their hushed conversation.

He feels floaty. Floaty in a bad way.

“Jamie’ll be alright, won’t he?” He hears Lena’s thick accent easily. Her voice is the highest among them, and easy to pick out.

He hears Hanzo say something. Or maybe it was the old soldier. They both kept their low, gravelly voices soft. It made them hard to listen to sometimes. He hear’s McCree say something in response, something like “He’s just a boy...”

What are they talking about?

What happened?

Did-

Did he finally run out of time?

He tries to find his voice. All that escapes him is a half-broken sob of pain. He hears footsteps, rushed, close in on him. No no, he needs to know - please. Needs to.

“D-Doct’r Zei-Zeigl’r?” He chokes out her name and sees her face, blurry through his tears and the pain, swim in and out of focus. She looks so tired. She looks so scared.

“Jamie - please - please go back to sleep...” He hears her say. Her voice sounds hurt and heavy. He feels a soft hand brush his forehead and with what little strength he has, he moves to press into that hand, into the offered comfort. He knows it’s hers. Everything hurts. He wants to be okay.

Doctor Zeigler called him Jamie.

 

 

_Jamie_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That

 

 

 

sounded

 

 

nice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: Chapter 4 is when Jamie claims his first mom. Place your bets on who it is!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gifts and giving - oh, and pirates too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter, but hey, I'm almost done with chapter 4!

He's always been bad at keeping track of time. Hours and days like water, swallowed down in a rush to meet the next. It's even worse now because he's stuck on a tiny cot in the farthest corner of the tent, hidden away by a makeshift curtain. It's to give him privacy, for all the rest he should be getting so he can get better quicker - that's what Doctor Zeigler says every time he's asked so far. He, personally, doesn't understand why she's so adamant about him getting better. He's not gonna. Not really.  
  
She's really busy now, so he can't tell her that she's being wasteful, helping him and all. She only pops in to check doctor-things, like his heart rate or his lungs or his copious amount of stitches. Everything else - like meals and blankets and bath time and company - is provided by the others.   
  
Part of him needs to push them away. The longer they give him love the harder it is to be okay about leaving it.   
  
Part of him wants to cling and cling and cling and cling ...  
  
Miss Pharah is the one who visits him the most. She's not at all bothered by his injuries, by the gruesome sight. He thinks that's pretty cool, but she's a knight. She's probably seen much worse than a nearly limbless kid like him. Maybe even brains. On the outside. Outside brains.   
  
Doctor Zeigler's tent had been hit, dead-on, with a sizable grenade. What wasn't blown to bite-sized bits collapsed in on itself and burned up within minutes. Miss Pharah told him so. She was the one who found him, bleeding out in the dust on the edge of a crater, down a limb and a half. She was so thankful that he hadn't stayed in the tent, that he hadn't listened to Doctor Zeigler. He would have died if he had.   
  
He holds his tongue. He doesn't say that it's stupid. That he's gonna die soon anyways because he's just not gonna make it. He's too small, too scrawny, and too all around bad. Now he's missing one of his hands and most of his leg. Now he's horribly crippled. He's not even gonna make it to the next Rain.   
  
He can't say anything. That'd be ungrateful. The Overwatch strangers have done so much for him. He can't let them think that he's gonna squander their efforts by dying - it's not like he wants to! It's just ... gonna happen. No matter what. Because he's just not cut out for this. All the adults know it, all the children know it - he's runty. It's not like he _wants_ to go, it's just ...  
  
Runts don't last long in Oz.   
  
They don't. So he won't.   
  
"That doesn't really look like bed rest." Miss Pharah isn't wearing her helmet today. She slips inside the small little space, closing the curtain behind her and taking a seat on the wooden crate by his bedside. She's smiling warmly. She's teasing. He smiles back, shyly curling into himself a bit.   
  
He really likes Miss Pharah.   
  
"I couldn't find a copy of your book." She says, a small frown working its way onto her face, furrowing her brow. She looks him right in the eye as she salutes, "Don't worry! The mission continues!"   
  
She's been dedicated to finding a replacement for the book he lost. He'd cried for a while when he was told that it was gone, even if he knew it was stupid. He giggles at that every time, at her serious soldier face, and now is no different. Miss Pharah breaks character, cracking a grin and reaching out as if to tickle his sides.   
  
"Oops. Mmmm, have to wait for the doctor's clearance before tickle fights." She hums, amused. She draws back, sitting up tall on her crate. She winks, "Later."  
  
" 'kay." He says, and part of him really wants a Later to exist.   
  
It creeps up on him. That feeling. Miss Pharah hasn't done anything, hasn't said anything more. This is entirely him and his stupid want to live. He thought he was okay, he thought he was fine with it. It was gonna happen soon anyways, him dying. He knew it. Everyone knew it. But instead now he's blubbering like a baby, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks and he can't tell Miss Pharah. He can't tell her the real reason he's crying, no sir, no sir.   
  
So he doesn't say a word. Can't actually, even if he wanted to. He's far too overcome with sour feelings that make his stomach sick and bitter.   
  
Miss Pharah stands up, panic and worry lining her face. She doesn't say a word, but she leaves. Disappears behind the curtain into the main tent in the blink of an eye. Oh, now he's done it. He's made a damn fine mess, hasn't he? He's being a baby and nobody here is willing to smack him upside the head to fix that. They're just gonna leave him alone and he knows himself. He knows what being alone will do to him. He's only gonna cry more -  
  
Miss Pharah's back. She's just not in armor. She took it all off.   
  
(How long has he been crying? It hasn't been that long - wow she's really fast!)  
  
She's excessively gentle when she picks him up, just like a storybook princess. His one hand scrambles, instinctively digging into the worn cotton fabric of her faded blue tank top. He pressed himself up against her, relishes the close contact. She's hugging him back, gentle but strong. He feels her heart beat against his ear, feels her even breaths against his patchy hair.   
  
"There, there..." Miss Pharah pats his back and she's not sure at all what to say but that's alright. It's not like he can really talk right now anyways.   
  
"... Would you ... Would you like it if I told you a story?" She says, voice soft after a while, when his crying had dwindled to sniffles because there just wasn't any more water in his body.  
  
He looks up at her, all wide eyes and awe. She grins down at him and boops his nose.   
  
"I will." She says, nodding, "It's only fair, for all the lovely stories you told me."  
  
He feels his cheeks warm and it's ridiculous because he didn't write those stories, he just read them. That's nothing special at all.   
  
Miss Pharah laughs. It's a beautiful sound.   
  
And then she begins her tale.   
  
It's absolutely perfect and he loves it. It's about _roguish_ pirates (he doesn't even know what that means but from his guess it means _pretty_ ) that sail the oceans (not poisoned water! Just salty - more evidence that always safe water exists for real and not just in stories!) The take what they want, but they don't want very much, so in the end they're really just treasure hunters finding out the deep secrets of the world. They have epic sword battles and there's battles against evil pirates and wicked kingdoms and Miss Pharah is the most excellent storyteller. She acts out the parts! With sound effects!   
  
Doctor Zeigler comes in at her usual time, to check the doctorly things and change his bandages. She comes in at the part in the story when the _dashing_ captain (it's definitely something that particularly valiant people look like when they're happy) rescues her First Mate that she's completely in love with, and Miss Pharah's caught up in the story so she scoops and dips Doctor Zeigler all romantic-like. Doctor Zeigler turns bright, bright red and Miss Pharah starts stammering apologies and the story kinda stops right there but that's alright too because Miss Pharah and the pirate captain are basically the same person now. Which obviously makes Doctor Zeigler the First Mate.  
  
So this story must be some real story only told like its pirates but they're not really pirates. They're heroes. If Lena drops by later maybe he'll remember and ask if Miss Pharah ever saved Doctor Zeigler from bad guys-who-may-or-may-not-be-pirates all romantic-like. Lena'd know for sure. She's got all the secrets because she's powered by secrets. Or something. It's got _something_ to do with her glowy heart.   
  
Doctor Zeigler's hands are light and careful as she deals with his stumps. Her face is forcibly blank - she's trying really hard to be professional and the like but he's not sure what she's trying to hide.   
  
It makes him sad again, when he watches her face. When he watches the bandages come off. His nubby stumps are red and ache. The black thread of the stitches stand out against the burned scar tissue. He looks away as Doctor Zeigler's fingers apply medicine and burn creams and all that soft icky doctor stuff. He tastes his blood in his mouth - must have bitten through his lip again. Why is his own blood always so tasteless?  
  
"Jamie?"  
  
He jumps back into reality, snapping his focus to Miss Pharah. She's got a weird smile on her face.   
  
"When Doctor Zeigler's finished, would you like to go outside?" She asks, "You can sit on my shoulders."  
  
Her grin grows into a smile, mischief in her eyes, and she lowers her voice to a loud whisper with a hand hiding her mouth from Doctor Zeigler like that would keep her from hearing the next bit.   
  
"Maybe even go to the outskirts and fire some rockets?"  
  
She knows him very well, Miss Pharah does, because that sounds _fantastic._  
  
Doctor Zeigler grumbles her disapproval but Miss Pharah whispers something into her ear and she relents. Must be romance-type stuff. Grosssssss  
  
In no time at all he's in fresh bandages and Miss Pharah's got her armor back on and he's hoisted up onto Miss Pharah's armored shoulders and it's incredibly, exhilaratingly amazing. He feels impossibly tall on Miss Pharah's shoulders, reveling in the sun's heat and the sting of wind-dust. He didn't think he'd ever miss wind-dust. Guess being cooped up in a tent for ages would do it.   
  
Miss Pharah's walking pace isn't fast. It's not slow either. It's steady and imposing. The shiny armor helps, keeping most everyone at a generous distance because Junkers know better than to mess with a knight. It makes him feel like he's on the shoulders of a giant, the way he can see far across the tops of heads and the way people part around Miss Pharah as they carry on about their business, and from the shoulders of his giant he sees something familiar out of the corner of his eye, and everything has to stop right now because he knows that heavily dressed mess of dark greens and bright yellows.

  
  
"WADJET!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Mum?"

Wadjet's lenses are dark. The mask hides all expressions and it muffles their voice. It's really hard to hear Wadjet over the bustling streets, but he can tell they're saying something. He knows them very well. By the shift in Wadjet's stance - a loose hand on their rifle strap, most of their weight on their right leg - he knows they're being all nosy-adult. 

 

"So who is this?" He thinks he heard. He's pretty sure he heard that. Wadjet's been out and away for a while. Almost weeks, and the strangers came while they were gone, busy hunting down some poor Junker for some extra rations. Wadjet wouldn't know Miss Pharah. Wouldn't know any of the strangers, and he knows that if he suddenly returned to find outsiders about Junkertown, he'd want to know.

 

He looks down at Miss Pharah. He thinks, deeply. Miss Pharah is Doctor Zeigler's knight and they're very, very in love, obviously. She's a lover of big explosions and small explosions, so long as they help defend the innocent - she's told him that many times. She likes telling stories, just like he does, but she's had years and years and years of practice so she's aces at the art. She gives the best hugs and she has one of the greatest smiles - her eyes sparkle and her tattoo crinkles and she starts laughing too. Kinda like he does when he smiles. 

 

Who is Miss Pharah?

 

He remembers her story. The pirates. He remembers what they stood for. What they sailed the great vast oceans for. They took what they wanted, but they never wanted very much. He doesn't think it's too much to want this - and if it is, well he'll stop wanting things for a while to fix that. 

 

He's gonna be a pirate. He's gonna take what he wants. 

 

"This is Miss Pharah!" He chirps, his voice shaking. Nervous giggles spill out, but his heart swells with bravery because if he's gonna be a pirate and take what he wants, then he's gotta be brave about it too. And he wants this. He wants this more than anything. 

 

"She's m' new mum!"

 

It doesn't really hit him until the words are out of his mouth that maybe Miss Pharah doesn't want to be his mum. That she can refuse or worse, agree and then leave him behind. It wouldn't be the first time. Panic rises but he swallows it back down. He's a pirate now so he has to be brave, just like them. 

 

Miss Pharah feels like a statue beneath him. He won't let himself be worried. He did his best, tried to take what he wanted - maybe it'll stick. Maybe he won't be in trouble for it. He’s gotta be brave and hopeful and strong, like all the heroes from the storybooks and from real life too.

 

"I'm happy for you, Jamison." He hears Wadjet's smile. They readjust the strap of their rifle on their shoulder. Their hand rises up and they remove their mask. Miss Pharah stiffens even more. 

 

"I'm happy for you too, Fareeha." Wadjet says, and he sees their face and their eyes for the first time and it's the face of a much older Miss Pharah staring back. Except the tattoo is a little different. And it's on the wrong side. 

 

The air gets colder immediately. He flinches. Chews at his lip. Something has changed. Something is now _Wrong_. 

 

"Mother?" Miss Pharah's voice sounds strained. It sounds hurt. He can't see her eyes, not from his place on her shoulders, but he thinks he can see their reflection in Wadjet's. It's the saddest thing he's ever felt, nevermind seen. He has to look away. If his one handed grip dug a bit too harshly into Miss Pharah's hair, he wouldn't know. She was too busy staring down Wadjet. 

 

"So this is where you went to find yourself?" Miss Pharah hisses the words. She's all barely withheld rage, he knows it. She's angry and scary and _this is his fault._

 

Then they argue. It's loud and terrible and over half of it is in that beautiful language that Wadjet had tried to teach him. The lullaby language. It had been so beautiful - but now as it's shouted and hissed it all sounds like snake venom. How could something so beautiful be so ugly? He wishes he didn't understand what he did. Wishes he didn't understand when Miss Pharah all but cries about how scared she had been. How horrible it had felt to lie to everyone about her mother's death. How alone she had been when Overwatch faded away and died. 

 

He hates the word for death. It's poison. Only sweet things should be said in the lullaby language. Not these bad things. Not these sad things. Not the mean things. His eyes burn with tears. He tries to cover his ears, tries to curl up small. He tries to disappear. He doesn't want to understand this fight, doesn’t want to be here anymore. Wadjet must have noticed him. Must have noticed the silent tear tracks down his cheeks, or his pale, bloodless face or his hand-and-stump clapped over his ears (not that it helped. He still heard them. Still understood them).

 

"Fareeha -" She says, raising her hands, "Stop."

 

Miss Pharah bites back her words. Swallows them down. She lets Wadjet continue.

 

"We can talk later. You are terrifying your son."

 

"He's -!" She starts. Stops. He wonders what she was going to say. Probably gonna deny it. Deny him. Of course she was. Nobody in their right mind would take him in. He's a lost cause, not worth air he breathes or the space he takes up. He's a lost cause, no matter how much he'd want otherwise and it was _so stupid_ to try - why did he do that why did he try to change things?

 

"You're right." She concedes stiffly. "Meet us later, at the Clinic tent."

 

And Miss Pharah turns away. Walks away from her mother - from Wadjet - with a short, quick pace that belies her anger. He holds on tightly, the briskness of her stride makes it scary, it feels like he could fall off, but her hands on his legs holds him steady. He's still scared. He hurt her, didn't he? He's not sure what he did but he's sorry. He's so sorry. It's because he - it's the mum thing isn't it?

 

"Why ain't'cha ..." He tries to speak once they’re on the outskirts of Junkertown. (Why are they here? Is she here because she wanted to get away from the loud stuff to be angry? He can understand that. He sometimes feels like that too.) He tries to form words to fit his feelings, to make everything okay again because Miss Pharah is angry and it's his fault. It's his fault that she talked to Wadjet. It's his fault that she got angry. It's his fault and she doesn't want to be his mum. He only ends up stumbling over half-formed thoughts and words. There’s a lot of pointing back towards Junkertown. Back towards the tent.

 

He doesn't blame her. 

 

"I have a promise to keep." Miss Pharah says, and the words feel sharp. Because they are. It was her promise to him. He'd forgotten. They went out together, for him. They were gonna go blow up rockets. He’d forgotten. He forgot and she's angry about that too, isn’t she? Everyone's right after all, aren’t they? He's not worth anything. 

 

The sniffles start. The tears follow. It feels like he's going to cry forever. 

 

He's being lifted up. Lifted off. Set down on a smooth rock. Miss Pharah sits in the dust across from him. Her knees touch his knee-and-stump. They're a little ways from the Junkertown walls and the loud, crowded streets. Everything is muffled. Everything is hot. Even the tears on his face burn. 

 

Her hands reach. They cradle his face as her thumbs brush away the tears that keep coming. She looks so serious. So grave. He can't handle that right now. 

 

"Did you mean that?" She says after a while. Her hands haven't left his face. 

 

"M-mean w't?" He hiccups. Bites at his lower lip. 

 

"Do you want me to be your mother?"

 

His lip wobbles. The fear the fear _the fear_

 

"Wanted t' be like them p-pirates. They- they took what they wanted 'n it wasn't much ... an' - an' I want-" His words catch in his throat. Tears begin anew, "Want a mum. _I want a mum._ Want one. Jus' one! Right? That ain't too much? Ain't asking too much, right?"

 

His voice is shrill. His breathing is ragged. He's coming apart. Fast. Faster. 

 

"Want t' be happy - I jus' want to be okay before I go-"

 

"Go?" Miss Pharah presses closer, her brows furrowed together. Confused? Why confused? It should be obvious - this is something everybody knows. He’s runty and fragile, always has been. He gets hurt easily, gets sick easily. He’s not ever going to amount to anything. Everybody knows that.

 

"I ain't gonna-" he swallows thickly. He's not ready. He thought he'd be ready. He's so _stupid._ "Ain't gonna last much longer."

 

Miss Pharah's face says too much. It falls and he can see her heart, he can see it crack and she lets the waves of her sadness run over him. Drown him. He's so sorry - he didn't mean to make her sad. This is his fault. First he made her angry and now he’s gone and made her sad. He should have pulled away before anybody got too attached. 

 

"Mean, I wasn't gonna last very long anyways." He shakes his stumps, forcing a smile, "Now these here, they're jus' gonna help."

 

"You are not going to die." She says the words with such conviction, he could almost believe it. He knows better though. Still, she gets a real smile from him. She pulls him to her until he's in her lap. He presses his forehead and nose to hers, and she’s laughing. She boops his nose with hers, calls it an _eskimo kiss_ and that McCree taught her it and he laughs and says no, that's the _hongi_ and you're weird, and then she laughs more and holds him close. She smells like fuel and sand and wind and he loves it. Her hair beads jingle and clack and that's the best sound in the whole world right now. That and Miss Pharah's laughter. 

 

"It's not too much." She says. Nearly steals his breath. Being held feels so overwhelmingly _good,_ he never wants this moment to end. She continues, "You aren't asking for too much - just a mother. Right?"

 

"... yeah?" His voice is hardly above a whisper. It wavers and cracks like a dying flame. 

 

"I would like to be your mother." Miss Pharah says, drawing back to cup his face, to run her fingers through his patchy hair. 

 

"Mum..." He says, testing the word, testing the title. 

 

His mum smiles down at him, all fire and pearly teeth and joy. It doesn't feel real. This moment is too good. It's like a happy ending - Just like in his storybooks- It's more wonderful than it was his dreams.

 

He's getting a happy ending.

 

He's gonna be okay.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gibraltar is a strange place. Gibraltar has some strange people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm picking this fic back up again! I have places that this is gonna go. Big Places. With shining lights and stuff.  
> So here you go mates. Some choice fluff!

He’s gonna be okay.

 

He’s  _ gonna be okay, dammit. _

 

He’s a big bundle of nerves, fidgeting in his seat with the fraying seams of his shorts. Lena’s chipper and cheery as she runs through her pilot checklist and brings the ship down down down - It’s all new to him. New and terrifying, and he’s only really been brave once. 

“Don’t worry. Everyone’s going to love you.” His mum speaks in a voice that’s so warm and fond. It’s almost convincing, but he knows better. He’s a runt and love is a high price to ask of people normally. His mum tells him differently, but he’s got years of know-how to back him up. Runts don’t last long and they ain’t worth the scrap they cost.

She runs a hand through his hair, slowly wrapping the gesture around to cup his cheek, to lift his chin up so he can see her. So he can find comfort in her warm smile and gentle eyes. They crinkle at the corners and sparkle with joy. This place is her home, will be his home. Their home, together. That’s what she said, so proudly, so confidently, like everything was gonna work out perfectly.

But now?   
Now he’s afraid. The initial excitement is gone. Drained away like the color from his cheeks and the warmth in his limbs. He lets his mum unbuckle him, and before she draws back he holds out his stump-and-arm in the universal language of Need. She promised she’d be there. She promise she’d love him for always. Still though, he feels sick in his belly for being needy. For asking so much, maybe too much - this was a mistake, wasn’t it? Oh no-

The corners of her lips quirk upward. An amused little huff, a little chuckle, leaves her and she picks him up. It’s effortless, like he weighs nothing at all, but then again, his mum is a knight. She’s very, very strong, just as all proper knights are. He clings to her, trying his best to be brave. She’s got him on her hip, pulled in close. So close. He can hear her heartbeat, strong and steady and safe within her chest. His fingers dig into the metal of her armor, a vain attempt to cling to her better. Closer. He feels smaller like this. Small on his mum’s hip. Small clinging to her. Small with his face buried in her shoulder, pretending he isn’t there and doesn’t exist right now.

This place is new and it’s nothing like Junkertown, and that’s terrifying. What if it’s worse? It might be worse! This is, after all, where his mum came from. And Wadjet! And the old Soldier. And Hanzo. And Lena, and McCree - and they’re all so brave and strong and tough and good and very clearly top-notch in a brawl, which means where they came from must be at least ten times scarier than Junkertown! Maybe even twenty? Because the place makes the people, and they’re all so - so … 

At least he knew Junkertown. He wasn’t liked there, he wasn’t worth anything there, but he knew where he stood. He knew the streets and the sun and the dust there. He knows absolutely nothing about this  _ Gibralter _ . Only stories, and he knows that the truths in stories are rarely upfront. The truths in stories are always hidden, if they’re even there at all. Like non-poisoned waters and safe rain and small dogs. Practically myths, they are!

His mum taps his head, a small laugh falling from her as he looks up. Her smile is wide and bright.

“Are you too tired to meet everyone?” She says, poking his forehead. She’s teasing him again, he knows it, and suddenly he doesn’t feel so terrible. Doesn’t feel so afraid and bad and lost. He feels his cheeks burn. He tries his best to smile but it must not have been a very good smile, because his mum’s expression falls. 

Oh great he’s disappointed her and now she’s sad you’ve gone and ruined it ruined everything, haven’t you haven’t you haven’t you -

“It’s okay.” She moves him, so his back faces the unknown and he’s free to bury his face in her neck. “It’s very different from Junkertown, isn’t it?”

He nods. Makes a soft sound of agreement.

“Well…” His mum hums. Pauses. “It’s not so crowded here.”

His fingers dig into the metal armor. Focuses on his mum’s heart, confident under the shiny blue metal. She’s still talking. Talking as she’s walking, closer and closer to the looming cluster of buildings that are so strange. So different from home- from  _ Junkertown _ . (‘s not  _ home  _ anymore. This is  _ home _ now. This strange place with his  _ mum. His mum! _ )

“It’s very quiet, usually.” She says, “We go out on so many missions because there are places that need us, people that need us. Places and people all over the world.”

She stops, looks down at him, He looks up. She presses her nose and forehead to his and he breathes out and in, in and out. Her eyes are bright and dark and lively.

“Places just like Junkertown. People just like you.” She presses a kiss to his forehead. He feels the spot she kissed intensely, like it left a mark. Warm. Visible. He’s not sure what to think.

“Jamie?” She draws back. She stops walking. Her eyes are alight, glimmering with a mischievous spark, “Would you like it if I took you on a special grand tour?”

“...Gran’ tour?” He echoes. Curious. Confused. Maybe a bit afraid, but definitely more curious now.

His mum’s smile grows even wider.

“We’ll have to run inside for a little bit.” She winks at him, “Need to pick up some supplies and safety gear.”

He cocks his head. He’s really, really, really confused now. What? What?

 

* * *

 

He  _ adores _ flying.

 

(and flying with his brand new mum made it a million times better, probably.)

 

* * *

 

He has his own room now. Its bigger than the little alley hole he used to share with the other little rats back in Junkertown, and it’s gonna be filled with his stuff. So much stuff. As much stuff as he wants! Which is kinda daunting now that he thinks about it, lying sprawled out on his bed. 

( _ he has a bed and it really  _ is _ as soft as clouds look! _ )

What’s he gonna do? What’s he gonna fill it with?

His mum says they’ll fly down the mountain to the town below. Go shopping, later, after she finishes up something in the big lab at the end of the hall. And when she’s done they’ll be off. He, who’s never had anything, is gonna have everything he wants ( _ within reason _ , his mum had added firmly,  _ so no explosives _ .) 

( _ Not until you’re nine,  _ McCree had whispered afterwards, with a sly wink)

(Like he’ll last that long, though…)

Doctor Zeigler gave him a mechanical wheelchair, one that he can move with one hand. He’s kinda stuck with it until she’s done with some proper prosthetics. Ones that won’t inhibit growth, or something like that. He wasn’t really paying attention because he was on his mum’s shoulders in the great big lab with  _ Winston  _ the  _ Gorilla Scientist _ . And everything about that moment was so very awesome and so very impressive and so very  _ much _ . It was a lot to take in.

Plus, he always tunes out all that adult talk about the future. It’s not like he’s actually gonna be around that long. 

He sits up, alert. Heart racing, faster and faster. There are voices outside his door and he doesn’t recognize them. Doesn’t know them. Not at all, and he doesn’t have anything - he can’t run. Can’t hide. Can’t fight -

His door slides open and he freezes up.

A pretty lady with a big pink t-shirt freezes up in the doorway. She’s carrying a big load of stuff, all piled into a cardboard box. The pile looks very unstable, made of a lot of tech and many colorful bags of snacks. She says something, really quickly (most likely a swear), in a language he doesn’t speak but knows. Recognizes. It’s on the tip of his tongue, right there at the front of his brain, really! It’s it’s uh-

“This room was empty yesterday!” The pretty girl’s voice is high. She also sounds frustrated. The pile sways dangerously.

“It’s not?” Another voice arrives. It belongs to a man with colorful dreads and music. And lots and lots of green, “Wh-whoa!”

 

He no longer knows what to do. The woman looks frustrated now. 

The man, however, is supporting a slowly growing smile. It’s a really friendly looking smile.

“Hey lil’ dude.” He glides forward - he’s on roller skates!- and holds out an open hand, “Whatcha doing here all alone?”

He doesn’t answer. He only looks from the extended hand to the man’s face and his beaming smile.

“I’m Lucio, and she’s D.Va! We’re new to Overwatch.” He says, cocking his head to the side, “We were hoping to find an empty room to set up a chill place to hang out-”

“What for?” He doesn’t mean to be rude. Doesn’t mean to interrupt, but he wants to know. He wants to know why  _ Lucio _ and  _ Diva _ are in his room with a big box of stuff. He wants to know why they can’t just  _ chill _ in their own rooms.

“Well, I like to make music, so I need a good place that’s quiet.” He says. He’s really calm. He’s a nice person to be around, he thinks. “And D.Va does a lot of gaming, so she needs a quiet place too, so she can concentrate and-”

“This ain’t your spot.” He chirps, grinning widely because he obviously knows something these two grown-ups don’t. And that is  _ hilarious _ . 

Lucio laughs, and it’s a good laugh. Like Doctor Zeigler’s real laugh, not her polite doctor laugh. “I think we know that now - this is your room, right? It’s kinda empty-”

“No mate!” And he can’t help his giggles. “S’not that! This place ain’t quiet at all!” 

The two grown-ups stare. The woman squints at him. He decides that it would be very good and nice to further explain. He puts a finger to his lips.

“Listen!” He loud-whispers, grinning. It’s very hard to keep his giggles on the inside, but he’s gotta. 

 

1

 

2

 

3

 

_ Boom _

 

Lucio jumps. Diva screams and swears in her other language. (He knows that language, he knows he knows it. Like a few words, like  _ scrap _ and  _ shit _ and  _ pay me _ \- all the essentials for any Junker, really...)

He bursts out in full giggles now, wrapping his arms around his middle. Rolling backwards and kicking his foot-and-stump. 

“What the hell was that?” Diva screeches before Lucio glares at her for a reason that flies way over his head. He ignores it. Gives into the urge to burst out into another round of giggles at her startled outrage instead. These two must not have gotten a full tour. Very unlucky. For them.

“My room’s right next to the weapons labs!” He explains gleefully. “Big ‘splosions!” He mimics the sound of explosions, complete with hand-and-stump motions. After a moment of thought, he adds, “An’ also me mum’s room.”

“Your- your mom?” Lucio looks odd. Not really scared, not really confused, but somewhere in between.

“Yeah! You know, the knight!” He says, hand moving about to illustrate, “Blue? Shiny? Flies around with rockets?”

Lucio’s eyes go really really wide. Diva nearly drops her box with a very loud, large crash.

“Your mom is  _ Pharah?! _ ”

He blinks, tilting his head. He’s confused. Is that good? Bad? He likes his mum very much, thank you very much - “Yyyyyeeeeaaaahhh?”

The two grown-ups (who aren’t very grown up from what he’s seen of them so far) share a weird look. Panicked, almost.

“Isn’t she -”

“-Like super stern? And-”

“Very, uh  _ professional _ -”

“Mean?”

 

“ _ Who’s _ super stern and mean?” His mum is at the door, scowling and looking particularly big and intimidating. He has to cover his mouth with his hand to keep the laughter in. He knows that sparkle of mischief. He sees her secret wink. His mum’s teasing again.

Lucio and Diva flinch. They turn around slowly. The whole scene is very dramatic. The whole scene is very funny. His mum looms over them both. She’s much taller than them by a fair bit. That’s hilarious. They two  _ intruders _ cower a bit in his mum’s shadow, which is also hilarious. Then they start stammering words that are too fast for him to understand in their weird accents. Which is also very, very hilarious. 

They run off quickly enough, probably dropping half-a-dozen excuses before they do. Once their gone, he holds out his arms. His mum obliges. He presses their foreheads and noses together, and they both burst out into peals of laughter.

“They’re weird.” He says, breathy. Regaining the ability to breath and speak, “Weird an’ wrong an’ - an’  _ silly _ .”

“They’re new.” His mum sighs, “They’ll learn soon enough.”

He pulls back and grins real wide. His mum winks again.

 

“You ready to go, Jamie?”

“ ‘course, Mum.” He chirps, laying his head on her chest. She smells like gunpowder and fuel and sunshine. His fingers dig into the soft cotton shirt, speckled with grease stains. He wears his softest smile, 

 

 

“Been waitin’ for you.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Jamison Amari. You're experiencing a severe anxiety attack. There is no external threat in your vicinity. You are safe. Medical aide has been contacted and dispatched. Mercy will be with you shortly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worked hard on this chapter, because it's bringing Angela back into the equation.   
> Also for clarifications that will be elaborated and explored later, Jamie is completely and utterly terrified of all the Omnics save Bastion. He considers Genji an Omnic, too.
> 
> Why Bastion? Well, Bastion seems to be the most dangerous of all the Omnics at the base, and in canon Rat did like and trust literally the most stereotypical Evil Suit until Hog basically had to stare some sense back into the kid. I felt like this was the closest parallel I could draw.

Real-life mums are very different from the mums in storybooks. Of course, this is just his observation, so it can't yet count for very much. He must take all his  _ data _ into account (he learned that word from Miss Mei and Queen Athena. It means information, kinda-sorta. He thinks. He's pretty sure.) before he really comes to  _ verdict _ . (And he learned that one from McCree-uh, oh right!-  _ Uncle Jesse _ , who just so happens to be a lot smarter than everybody thinks. Used to being underestimated and told he wouldn't amount to much. It's very relatable.) It's a bit too early to make that  _ verdict,  _ considering that he's been at Gibraltar for a little more than two weeks, which means he's had a mum for nearly two months. Which is a lot for him, but not much for most everyone else. His lack of mum-related experience kinda speaks for itself. He supposes real-life mums could be like the ones in storybooks, he just hasn't seen enough mum-related action to truly know. But so far, it seems, the two are nothing alike. 

For starters, in the storybooks mums that are around (and aren't dead) they are always ... soft. They're always around, being stern and teaching their babies better or they're sad and crying and practically doing nothing at all while the main character goes off on fantastic journeys to save the day, the town, the city, and their precious flock of sheep. Or their cat. There was that one time when it was a cat. He liked that cat. The illustration of it was unlike anything he'd ever seen. Strange creatures, cats. 

 

His mum isn't like any of that. 

Well. 

She can be soft. But only soft in voice. In action. In the lullaby language. She's not actually soft-soft because his mum is a knight. She's a very good, top tier knight, so she feels strong. Firm. Like the glimmering steel of her armor. 

She's also not stern. She's a big ol' goof. Everybody only thinks she's big mean tough business because that's her business face and she thinks wearing her business face around newbies like Lucio and D.Va is hilarious. One big secret joke. She likes setting off explosions just for fun! Nobody who explodes stuff for fun can ever be all stern-tough business. It's a fact! A proven fact!!

She also likes to play loud, loud, loud music and sing along. She also pretends to play along. Usually using her rocket launcher.   That's so far from the serious storybook mums he's- he's- he doesn't have a word for what he is because he's only six but he's trying and he knows there's a word for it somewhere. And anyways, it's silly. Mum's air guitaring is silly and she says the ancient tradition of  _ Sick Air Guitar  _ was passed down through her family for generations. He doesn't really believe her because Wadjet always seemed to be the mischief sort, not the goof sort, but he's pretty sure honesty is a sacred rule in his mum's heart. Her? lying ? Can't be possible. Must be joking. 

So his mum isn't like storybook mums at all, just based on what he knows and what he's seen so far. There's obviously still time for this to change, but he really doubts anything will. 

 

People don't really change. 

 

He hums. Kicks his legs. Wiggles his toes. He's still getting used to his new prosthetics, the ones Doctor Ziegler so kindly made for him. They took a while, or so she claimed, but honestly back in Oz, getting prosthetics was a bloody nightmare unless you had the savvy to surg yourself and he told the good doc as much when she was trying to apologize for taking so long.

"Surg?" He remembers her asking, the word so pretty and delicate on her lips. Stark contrast from back  _ h _ -back in Oz. 

"Yep!" He had said, never not eager to be helpful, smile and eyes bright, " 's short for surgery or surgeried. Somethin' like that... You know, doin' your own surgeries?"

Something in her expression had changed then, but it had changed so fast that it might have never been there. He could have easily just been seeing things. 

No matter. He’s really very used to odd looks that he can’t figure out. It’s part of being a runt.

 

He wiggles the white-weird metal toes and the white-weird metal fingers. They almost feel like his old toes. Like his old fingers. Like the meat bits he lost. He thinks Doctor Ziegler did a bang up job. He knows most prosthetics back - back  _ there _ \- had trouble even moving on time with the brain commands. Feeling? Feeling was flat out, mate. No way. Not a chance. Nuh-uh. 

He grins and pulls both his legs to his chest, wrapping them up with both his arms, happy at the scarce temperature difference between his limbs, despite the mismatched constitution. They're a bit plain, he thinks. Just white metal with some grey tube-wiring showing through the extra-durable plates. Doctor Ziegler says the metal is exceptionally tough. It's  _ Genji-proof,  _ which, according to context clues because nobody can hold a straight face long enough to tell him, means it's the closest thing to invincible the world has ever seen. So far. Something like that. 

(He’s met Genji though. He still doesn’t understand. The Genji he met is almost as terrifying as Queen Athena. So very good at watching. The haunting whirl of machinery, suddenly there when only silence had been.)

He unfurls slowly, spreading out across the biggest couch in the rec room like a starfish, taking up as much space as physically possible just because he can. Because to him it's a right and proper riot. It's the little things. Gotta enjoy the little things. Like inconveniencing grown-ups and watching them get huffier than some of the baby rats he knows. (knew? Hmm. It’s possible they’re dead. And he’s dead to them, too, he supposes. That’s just how disappearing works in the GAFA.)

He's been waiting for his mum to get back from her King's Row mission for  _ hours _ and he cannot possibly wait another  _ minute _ or he just might  _ explode _ . She’s  _ late _ and he’s near ready to burst. He's got so much to tell her! 

Like the whole reason why D.Va and Lucio were eyeing his room? They're right next to Hanzo's room! And he's all Mister Responsible Grown-Up to them, telling them to go to bed and turn that music down and that is a ridiculous color to dye your hair, have you a shred of professionalism? And that? That's a right and proper riot right there, because Hanzo is not a responsible grown-up. He is distinctly A Mess. Mum said so, and he's been paying attention and all his observations lead to agreement. Hanzo is, indeed, A Mess.

Also he's made friends with Bastion. That's an achievement which deserves the highest praise because Omnics are terrifying monsters that can't at all be trusted. He once saw a mangled Sentinel unit come back alive and rip an older rat into messy quarters, right before his eyes, just because the older rat got a bit too close and didn't follow the scavving rules well enough. Bastion's different though. He's a good cobber, isn't anything like them other meanie Omnics. Bastion's a good boy. girl. Whatever. All they do is sit with their bird-o and garden. He's absolutely positive nobody on the base really truly appreciates how fantastic and weird that bit is. Back at- in the Bush? A Junker'd get themselves slaughtered and strung up like roaches on a string just by being in radius of the rusted monsters. But here it's all fine and dandy to let Bastion frolic about the garden and the base and the hallways in Recon form, Turret form, makes no difference at all.

But it had and he had screamed and Bastion had kinda screamed back. And one thing led to another and now he was doing his very best to teach Bastion how to make their beeps and boops sound a bit more like word by, naturally, reading every storybook he can find to the ol' bucket of bolts. 

Also another important thing that happened was he got bribed with stickers! Of course, he can't tell Mum any details - sworn to secrecy and all - but he got paid quite handsomely! Look! He covered his prosthetics in his payment, a very necessary deed. A very welcomed improvement, and yes, don't worry, he made sure to keep stickers clear of the joint seams and gearwork. Look though. He's got a nice assortment of glitter stickers, puffy stickers, rainbow stickers, animal stickers, and one very impressive scratch-n-sniff sticker that smells like mango. (Hey, hey Mum? What's a mango?)

Let's see, let's see ... what else happened?

Ah!

Miss Zhou (who he is not supposed to bother a bit because she is 'not good with children’ but that's just grown-up code for 'hates kids') finally finally finally asked Alex out on a date! Well. Kinda-sorta. It's not a date-date. It's a cop-out because Miss Zhou is kinda-sorta ... uh .... Ain't too brave, that one. He's supposed to be nice to everyone because everyone here in the Not-GAFA only sometimes say what they feel in a dumb effort to avoid fights. He doesn't think that method works too well. Sure it prevents lots and lots of small tiny fist fights, but those sour feelings just keep building until everything is compressed just perfectly for a stray spark to send it all to kingdom come - and then you've got a real nasty fight. The ones that last for ages and sour the whole colony. 

But anyways. 

He doesn't think Miss Zhou is very brave because it took her aaaaageeeeessssss to ask Alex to go see a movie (that was the original plan. He knows because Miss Zhou talks to herself a lot and Gibraltar's air ducts are very cozy and warm and easily defensible) but she chickened out at the last minute. Said it was basically team movie night and that a bunch of other people were probably going to be there. And that Alex should come. Hang out. Spend some designated relaxation time with the team. 

This is very clearly the most interesting thing that happened while Mum was gone, out and about in the sky saving people. She's got money on it with Mc-er-  _ Uncle Jesse _ . 

Gotta remember that. 

Get used to it. 

It and everything else. 

And bleeding hell there was a lot of  _ else _ . 

Now that Doctor Ziegler had given him his new leg (and arm too, he supposes), all of Gibraltar is his kingdom. Granted, most of the grown-ups say he oughtn't be unsupervised, left to his own devices and will to roam - but they're in and out of Gibraltar like breathing, staying away for ages at a time. The only grown-up ever consistently around is Queen Athena, who is-and-is-not an Omnic and who never, ever leaves. So he's never really alone. 

She's okay company, for a not-really-quite Omnic. He doesn't like her and she always says that's fine whenever he says so. And then usually locks most of the doors. 

But she can't lock the air vents! 

But she  _ can _ watch him. No matter where he is.

It's a compromise. 

Today the infamous Genji is supposed to be watching him. He's a ninja. Used to be part of Blackwatch with Mc-Uncle Jesse.  And with Uncle Jesse, Genji took down a bunch of enemies, all sneaky and wily and cool, probably. But he doubts that bit, because if Genji is a ninja, he's not a particularly good one. What kind of ninja can't catch one measly, runty rat?

And so he's sprawled out on the rec room couch like a starfish while Queen Athena puts Genji through all the hoops because she agreed to "indulge" his "shenanigans" for some complicated reason involving Zenyatta (he doesn't trust that bot. Not a centimeter. Not a fraction of a stripped copper wire. Too nice. Too peaceful. Hiding something. Gotta be.) and Starlight (always so stern and prim and proper, but she'd apparently done something  _ naughty _ and might get in trouble! Miss Perfection! Miss Order! Isn't that incredible?!) and somebody named  _ Sombra  _ (Now whoever could that be?)

 

"I'm afraid I have bad news, Jamie." Queen Athena's voice is very soft as it comes out of the ceiling speakers. He's up like a shot, on his tiptoes in high alert with wide eyes and attentive ears. 

"Genji's on m' tail?" He chews on his lip. Awww. He was just getting comfortable.

"No. Agent Shimada still believes you to be hiding in the ship hanger." Queen Athena answers promptly. Her synthetic voice is eerie. Bit frightening really, but he's a brave kid. His mum said so and she doesn't lie. 

Jamie chews on his lip a bit more.  Interlocks his toes.

"So... what's the bad thing?" He leans forward. Leans back. More than a bit nervous now, he has no idea - no. No. He knows exactly what news could be bad. Mum could be- 

could be...

could be

Before he knows it, big fat tears are rolling down his cheeks and he's breathing far too fast. Far too shallow. He just got a mum. Finally got a mum. He can't loose her. Not now. He was supposed to go first. Not this way. No no no nonononono-

Queen Athena is talking but he can barely make out the words over his frightened rabbit heart. 

" - Amari. Your -  severe - attack. - external threat - medical aide - contacted and dispatched - Mercy -"

 

He's fairly certain that this is what dying feels like. His rabbit heart is tearing out from his ribcage. There is no air in his lungs, and no amount of rattling breaths he takes will fill them. He's sinking. Drowning. The room is too big and he is too small. It's dark. He sees nothing. 

He's only ever had his mum and he hadn't had her for very long. This can't be real. It's not fair. 

 

Something grips him. Holds him firmly. His vision is too blurry, swimming before him. All the colors all blur together and he thinks to himself this must be what it's like, to be lost at sea. 

He hears Queen Athena, garbled and choppy. Her voice playing on a loop. It's torment. Again and again. Severe. Attack. Threat. He may only be six, but he knows what those words meant back in Oz. 

He knows that those meanings haven't changed, out here in the big wide world. Across his mind's eye he sees dozens of scenarios. Bullet holes. Nasty cuts. Blown-apart legs and arms. Burning, drowning, can't breathe. Cars, trucks, tanks. Snapping bones,  glittery blood - he's seen over a thousand ways to die, all before his very eyes. He's only six.  

His vision swims as his rabbit heart beats harder and harder against his ribs. It's going to run away from him, isn't it? It'll run away and he'll be as gone as his mum is. Isn't that right? That won't be so bad. It'd be nice, even. Maybe he'd even beat her to Paradise. 

 

After all, he wasn't meant to last.

 

And he'd hate for his mum to be alone.

 

And-

 

His breathing evens out and there are hands hovering above his shoulders. He picks up a voice, soft and soothing. 

 

"Jamie?" It's Doctor Ziegler, looking like the world was about to crack across its surface. So much concern. So much worry. How did she get here? He was pretty sure she was in her lab, just like she had been for the past week, working on some new improvements to her special staff.  Did she hear him? The rec room isn't particularly close to her lab, but it's not exactly far either. Was he that loud? He didn't mean to disturb her- he's sorry, he's sorry -

"May I? Doctor Ziegler's voice is thin. Delicate. He looks up at her, snapped out of his badnastyhorribleterrible-

He doesn't understand what she's talking about, but she's a doctor and she's helped him before, she's helped him so much, and Mum  _ adores _ her. Absolutely. Entirely. Obviously. (Uncle Jesse likes sappy romance novels - that's where he learned that word. It's Uncle Jesse's fault, really. Everyone knows that if you're gonna keep secrets you don't hide them under your pillow.)

"... sure." Doctor Ziegler is professional. He doesn't know what she's gonna do but it can't get any worse. 

Unless Overwatch decides to kick him out. Drop him back in Oz because he's Mum-less again and that's where he came from.

 

She pulls him tight. It's a hug. Just a simple hug. She’s counting, for some reason. All  _ one-two-three _ really slow and he can’t focus long enough to figure out why. Everything is just too much right now. Her voice falls to the background. He can't keep any more of himself bottled in. He overflows, wet and messy and disgusting. All snot and fat tears, all over the front of Doctor Ziegler's white doctor coat. 

"W's gonna happen?" He chokes out the words between his sobs. 

Doctor Ziegler gives him a soft smile. A tired smile, but her eyes are almost always tired. He doesn't get to see her much, what with her always being working hard on something or another, but when he does, she always has the sleepless coal smudges and tired eyes. But she's not like most everyone he's ever met. She's never grumpy. Well. She's never seemed grumpy. 

"Well, Fareeha will do her best to return as soon as possible. It happens, sometimes." Doctor Ziegler explains, humming, "Situations are sometimes fragile. Sometimes things happen that we don't anticipate. Sometimes this makes missions shorter. Sometimes, longer."

 

Wait. 

_ What _ . 

"Mum - Mum's.... she's okay?"

Doctor Ziegler looks at him. Really looks at him, with her eyes suddenly sharp and not tired. Her brows furrow together and all at once he feels useless and small. It's been a while since he felt like that. 

She takes a while to speak, opening her mouth to say something, but then thinking better of it several times over. He tries not to fixate on the words that died in her throat, on her lips. The questions she didn't ask. It doesn't go too well, and he just clings to her. Tighter. Harder. He's a regular ol' mutie koala - hairless spots, mangled limbs, and too-sharp teeth. 

"Where is Genji?" She asks, her tone decidedly neutral. There's no bite, no poison, no trouble. 

"... skipped 'im..." He hiccups, rubbing at his eyes. He pulls away a bit. Doctor Ziegler may be an angel, but that doesn't mean she has to put up with him. Or his uselessness. No reason to stay in her circle. No reason to press her temper. He doesn't want to burn any shacks on accident. 

Doctor Ziegler makes a noise in her throat. It sounds bad. It means trouble, he knows it, he's in trouble. 

He flinches. Closes his eyes, half curled up into himself, and waits for the trouble he’s earned.

 

"I could use some company." She says, and he hears a smile. A mischief smile. "It's lonely in my lab without Lucio or Zenyatta."

That sure isn’t the trouble he earned or expected. She reaches out, so softly, so softly. Tilts up his chin to meet her eyes. They're a happy shade. Like the rare clean skies over Junkertown. 

"Would you mind reading to me again?" She asks. 

His eyes widen. His heart stutters. She would want him? 

"Jus' - Jus' like b'fore?" 

Her teeth are straight and even, like a line of bullets. But her smile is far warmer. It's soft and safe, and it almost fills up the gap his Mum left in him when she went away to King's Row. 

"Just like before." Doctor Ziegler repeats. He believes her. 

 

He even lets her hold his hand as he takes the lead to his room.

 

He even lets her pick out the storybook, even though he makes a face and shakes his head and cannot understand why she likes Peter Rabbit over The Velveteen Rabbit. She says The Velveteen Rabbit is too sad for her, but apparently Peter Rabbit is fine. He doesn't understand it, Peter Rabbit put everyone in danger with his stupid uselessness running off into a dangerous patch just because he wanted something. It’s the first lesson the Outback teaches you, and sure, Peter Rabbit got off and didn’t get crushed by nasty murderous Omnics, but  _ still _ . Any Rat try that? They’d be snuffed out by the colony they second they made it back, if they made it back, because  _ you don’t disturb Omnic Nests -  _

He just shrugs and hums and sits up on one of the desks. He has to kick a few things to the side, but it doesn't look too important and nothing breaks, so he's probably fine. He settles. He cracks open the great big book of tales, and flips idly through the pages until he comes to the start. 

 

A pretty picture of Peter Rabbit stares at him with empty eyes. Doctor Ziegler likes Peter Rabbit. He shakes his head and begins to read, feet dangling over the table's side, kicking lightly, because he can never be truly still. 

 

It's okay to be wrong here, he supposes. 


End file.
